the life cycle of a star
by milahtalas
Summary: (Because oh, sweet child, don't you know that stars return to dust too?)


_**i. nebula**_

Dust.

The world he was born into was compact, held together. The world he was born into was closely-knit, never allowing room for progression. The world he was born into held such high density, never allowing a ray of light to pierce through. The interstellar dust held onto the colder parts of others, refusing to feel the warmth of those who could treat its children better.

The irregularity of it all didn't help his already dysfunctional family.

The first thing that came to him was the harsh wind and the cold brutality of it all. The only comfort he felt at the beginning was his mother's smile. The only warmth that ever entered this godforsaken palace was his mother's soft caress. He remembers his father's harsh words, how they've effectively obscured any light from passing through. He remembers his mother's pleas, her eventual turn against the king, her tear-stained face as she said her last goodbye. There were some things that toddlers shouldn't see, but people have stopped acting like they actually cared about that.

 _(His father makes him watch her say farewell. His father makes him watch her shamed in front of the people. He does not make a sound.)_

So the young royal grew up in the darkness, in the unrelenting, biting winds of the dark nebula.

If so, why did he still feel like he was on fire?

 _ **ii. blue**_

Fire.

Growing up in the Vestal Royal Palace did not do wonders for the prince.

He was a clusterfuck of emotions.

All these sensations, these emotions — he didn't know what to do with them. He didn't know what to actually feel. He didn't know how to present them in a manner that didn't make everyone hate him. The feelings, the sentiment; it all fused until he didn't know what to perceive as right and wrong. His chest feels heavy sometimes, but it's nothing, really.

His father sometimes gives him a slap. His father sometimes gives him a little reprimand. It's alright. It's justified. He tells himself his father just wants him to grow up well. He tells himself that his father just wants him learn what do what is right. There was nothing wrong with it.

 _(It's better to stay in line, young prince. Learn your place.)_

The hits and strikes get more painful over the years. He thinks that he's just imagining the burn.

 _ **iii. red**_

Iron.

He feels the iron coursing through his veins. He smells it from all the blood that seeps through his scars.

Scars his father gave him.

His team was gone. Phantom and Grav choosing to side with the enemy. Prove and Pharaoh killed. Luster and Volan —

 _Luster and Volan._

Their demise seemed to hurt the most. He gave Luster a place amongst the most high. He gave Volan a chance to prove himself amongst the royals. Were those generosities not enough?

But he's the one who sent them away to their death, wasn't he? He's the one who gave them their punishment after their betrayal. They should have known better than to turn against their king.

They should have known better than to turn against their king, like his mother did.

 _(Then why did theirs make him ache?)_

All his emotions were starting to come together again. God, what a mess. He feels like he's hit another wall once more. His legs are kicked out from under him. All he feels is the pressure of his father's hands on his head, his neck, his body. All he feels is the sensation inside of him, pulling away all the vigour he had left.

He's caving in.

 _ **iv. supernova**_

Collapse.

He can feel himself collapsing. Everything comes crumbling down onto him like he's gravity. He closes his eyes for a minute or two, hoping to find rest. Hoping that maybe he'll just succumb to the pressure and wither away.

He doesn't.

He hears them. Light and wind. Luster and Volan. Volt and Lync. They tell him to turn against the throne. To turn against the man he once called father. To turn against the one who left his being scarred. He blocks them out at first, until he takes a step back and _listens._ He courts the idea that perhaps, they're right.

The collapse is already underway, then it stops. He breathes and pulls on the matter that rests upon him. A matter he'll have to face. It all comes crashing down on him, igniting the fire in his bones. The inferno slams against the pressure; he's about to change its course.

He'll tear himself to shreds, detonate if he has to.

 _(Because oh, sweet child, don't you know that stars return to dust too?)_

He only wishes that his yielding will build the path toward a better world.

The prince hears his mother's voice amongst the battle. "Hello, darling," she says.


End file.
